A Tale of Heresy
by RanmaChanFC
Summary: A tale of a man's heresy, and the doom a single fallen soul can bring.
1. A Short Foreword

**A Short Foreword**

This is one of the first stories I have ever written, and it first started many years ago. Since then I have constantly been adding and removing different chapters and ideas, as well as editing each chapter over and over again as things start to progress (I start to write, then stop, then start again). Please do not judge my overall writing style or skill with these first three chapters. I have tried to keep my original idea intact, which means the first three chapters.

Looking back on them now, I know I could do WAY better with an overhaul of them, but my laziness stops me from doing so, for now. You will see the later chapters start to improve as I created new ideas, and improved over time. Please, give me any and all feedback you can. I welcome everything with open arms, and an open mind. But please do not judge the whole story on these first three chapters. Who knows, maybe one day I will go back and start from scratch.

Also, no, this story wasn't stolen. If you remember something like this on here (which is very unlikely) it is my old work. This is an original tale (as far as I know). That being said it is based on the game Winter Assault, it is the prelude to the game, and details how things came to be. Also, I do not own anything of Gamesworkshop's, Relic, THQ, or any other company or party involved with Winter Assault, the Dawn of War Series, and Warhammer 40k.


	2. Prelude

A Tale of Heresy

By: RanmaChanFC

_**Prologue**_

Lorn V was a lone planet, far on the northern edge of the Milky Way, also called the Segmentum Obscurus. One of its main features was its location near a distortion in space called the Eye of Terror, a red seething mass of rotting stars and decaying reality. Records hold nothing on it other then it was captured late into the Great Crusade, an age when humans had expanded at an incredible rate. Nothing of it was known before that time. It might have once been a beautiful Agri-world completely covered in farmland, or a horrifying Death-world, where every organism, be it plant or animal, is extremely hostile to human life. Now Lorn V was classified as an Ice-world, a barren desolate place that held little but snow, and under that, precious mineral wealth.

When the Great Crusade ended and a civil war called the Horus Heresy began, a small Imperial garrison and a single Titan stayed loyal to the Emperor. They defended it against all invaders, the traitor Chaos Legions, bloodthirsty Orks, and in some cases even the mysterious Eldar. It had been ten thousand years of constant assaults from the Eye of Terror, small war bands trying their luck against a lone Imperial world. Now a greater threat was approaching, though none on Lorn V knew it. An entire company of World Eaters Chaos Space Marines were moving through the warp, slowly traveling to the planet. These World Eaters were aptly named. For when they landed on a planet they were an unstoppable force of destruction, slaughtering and destroying everything in their path.

Ten thousand years of harsh weather and decreasing knowledge in science and technology had taken their toll on the Titan of Lorn V, but it was built from the plans of a Standard Template Construct (STC), and it was built to last. The Titan was of the Warlord class, towering hundreds of meters into the sky, with Twin Turbo Lasers built into its mighty shoulders, a Volcano Cannon on its left arm and a Mega Cannon on the right. It bristled with point defense weapons, Missile Launchers, Multi Lasers, and Assault Cannons placed where ever possible. Pintle-mounted Heavy Bolters were placed in strategic locations throughout its body, and inside was filled with security doors, traps, and defensive gun emplacements. It was a weapon of pure war. None knew what Titan Legion it was from anymore, all its markings and paint had been stripped from its body due to the harsh weather.

The operators of the Titan had formed into their own cult, with the piloting Princep choosing from the assistant Moderati who would operate it on his death, and Moderati operators selecting and training those who would succeed them. The Mechanicus, a large cult of humans who worshiped technology, had tried to take as much care as they could when repairing the Titan, and keeping their histories, but after thousands of years of technical decline much had been lost, never to be reclaimed.

Contact with other planets was sparse, with the Warp making messages difficult to send. Ships still came to trade food for ore, and the Imperial Guard division stationed on the planet still went to nearby planets who called for aid, but the planet had hit a sharp decline in recent years.

It all started in space. What little orbital defense weapons and ships the Imperial defenders had received no warning about the incoming attack. The forces of Chaos had little to fear from the Warp (the space beneath reality that allowed ships to travel at faster speeds), as they were infused with its ruinous powers, and therefore their mastery of it was unparalleled. Dozens of massive ships slid out of horrible wounds seemingly gashed into the fabric of space, the corroded metal of their hulls mixed with horrifying insect carapace and living flesh.

Hundreds of smaller ships accompanied the larger ones, some seeming to be made entirely out of flesh, or even worse substances. These smaller ships flew into mine fields, and acted as shields against the orbital defense weapons of the Imperials. However, due to their ability to exit the Warp practically right beside the defenders, the full effectiveness of the defensive emplacements was lost. As soon as the Chaotic attackers were close enough they fired, and reaped a terrible toll.

The broadside weapons of the Chaos forces opened fire on merchant ships, orbital stations, and what little defense fleet there was, ripping massive holes into larger ships, and tearing through the defensive screen completely. Many ships tried to flee the planet, but even smaller fighter craft appeared from the bellies of the larger Chaos ships like hordes of locust. They chased down and annihilated any Imperial trying to flee.

A few of the corrupt Chaos ships were struck by the orbital defense platforms and defending ships, but almost no real damage was done. A lucky shot from an orbital Lance Battery struck a Slaughter Class Cruiser directly in the side, causing living flesh to split and die in the vacuum. Soon all that remained in space was wreckage, and the horrifying Chaos ships bred from a nightmare, preparing orbital drop pods and shuttles.

The Imperial citizens on the surface erupted into riots seeing the flashes of weapons fire in the heavens and the destroyed ships and stations that were falling to the planet. They thought the end of the world was coming, and they were right.

Huge Chaos battleships descended into a lower orbit, dropping thousands of screaming drop pods and massive shuttles filled with war machines and troops. The Imperial Guard was warned of the approaching danger and took battle positions around the cities of Lorn V, mostly the capital, Talorn, where the Governor's Palace was. Rather then the expected drop pods, all that arrived was a huge bombardment; every major city was pounded by laser fire and missiles, but strangely enough, Talorn was left unscathed.

The Planetary Defense Force (PDF) and the stationed Imperial Guard were broken, battered, and quickly losing their courage from what they knew was approaching. The PDF and citizens of the planet had heard only myths of the greatness of the Space Marines, the Defenders of Humanity. Now some were attacking them, albeit, traitors. This type of situation had happened in the past, but at those times the planet had been fully protected by a large defensive fleet, and massive land armies, it also helped that the attackers had come only in small war bands. This was a full company of Chaos Space Marines, one of the most unstoppable forces in the known universe.

Due to the orbital bombardment by the Capital ships of the Chaos fleet, huge swathes of land all across the planet had been turned to ashes and dust. Snow and ice melted, turning kilometers of land in all directions into marshes of death. Small towns had been vaporized leaving only blackened smears, and larger cities bad been turned into flaming ruins. However, this was not the true way of the World Eaters. They preferred to fight in close combat with a blade in their hand, not destroy their opponents from space. So, rather then completely annihilate everything on the surface of the planet, they left many alive, to be slaughtered later.

Around the walled city of Talorn Imperial Guard tanks and troops, PDF units, and conscripted citizens took positions in the trenches and on the walls. Talorn had massive walls reaching almost fifty meters in height, filled with gun emplacements, windows for snipers and heavy weapons, and towers built into the walls on top of which Basilisk artillery tanks were placed. Thousands of meters of trenches had been dug all around the city years prior when an attack from an Ork Warboss had come, and failed. The trenches were filled with thousands of men, and tanks had been placed in dugouts throughout the trenches. Bunkers littered the fields around the city, filled with Melta Guns, Heavy and Storm Bolter positions, and automated Assault Cannons.

The Chaos drop ships and shuttles came, landing near every city, at every major landmark, and all around Talorn. Most of the drop pods and shuttles that came too close to the surviving cities were shot down by the Imperials anti-aircraft batteries and Hydra AA tanks.

The barren planet now was truly helpless. Messages could not be sent out for aid and no ships remained that could escape and find help. Talorn and her sister cities were now effectively fortified tombs, surrounded by hundreds of meters of trenches, and walls rising high into the sky, meters thick. Each city building had been turned into a makeshift bunker and had killing traps built into every floor. If it came down to a fight within the city, then every floor would be a battle. Basilisk artillery tanks were placed throughout the entire city, in the middle of streets, on top of roofs, and even inside hollowed out buildings. Massive barricades had been constructed leading all the way to the center, the Governor's Palace.

The palace was a magnificent structure, with towers rising high into the sky and bristling with anti-aircraft batteries. Inside, many of the chambers had been converted into control and briefing rooms, filled with holographic maps of the city and the planet. In the center of the Palace, and open to the air, was a massive platform that could split down the middle, releasing a magnificent, but rarely used, defensive weapon.

The World Eaters were led by a leader of one of the old Great Companies, a traitor named Crull. Given the title of Lord he had been tasked with over a thousand Chaos Space Marines to take and hold the planet. His master, Angron, Primarch of the World Eaters Traitor Legion, wanted something, a prize that could be used to destroy worlds more effectively then even a Company of his soldiers.

The Chaos soldiers that had landed safely around the planet now destroyed the anti-aircraft batteries of the cities breached by orbital bombardment. Mining outposts and far-flung settlements with no defenses were annihilated, and the people slaughtered. The World Eaters now moved to surround the surviving cities of Lorn V, staying out of range of the massive defensive guns that remained, for now. Soon the battle for the planet would begin in earnest.


	3. Chapter 1

A Tale of Heresy

By: RanmaChanFC

_**Chapter One – Jack, Betrayal, Death**_

Jack was just a regular Imperial soldier at the time of his conscription into the army years ago. At that time he slowly started to show skills in a multitude of things, from physical training to use of heavy and exotic weapons. After a time he was found to be promising at hand to hand combat as well, with everything from blades to his body. The only thing he lacked was true faith in the God-Emperor of Mankind, but that could be faked easily enough.

Recently Jack had been promoted to a squad of Kasrkin Troopers, the elite corps of the division. He was called a rookie and treated badly by his comrades, and many of them were angry that he was replacing a friend who had died in a live fire training exercise. None trusted him or cared to talk to him, but Jack didn't mind that. He was not a very social person, but still had friends in the regular corps. However, with death upon them, Jack didn't really think it mattered anymore.

Jack had always loved the cold weather, whereas his friends hated it. He said it calmed his nerves and cooled his temper. His friends said that all it did for them was freeze them solid, and many remarked that his brain must have been permanently frozen. Currently Jack was standing out in the trenches, and not even the cold could calm his nerves now. Missiles flew back and forth and shells screamed shrilly overhead. It was not just the shells that screamed though, humans and those who were once human screamed too.

The World Eaters were monstrous creatures, and the fact that they were supposed to be human was ridiculous. They stood head and shoulders over the tallest man in Jack's company, and their mass was incredible. Their armor was painted light red and gold, but both colors had been obscured years ago by the dried blood that stained it. They screamed terrifying war cries as they ran forwards under heavy fire; las-bolts, and stubber rounds bounced harmlessly off their armor. The Traitor's charge was protected in the front by hordes of cultists: men, women, and children from far off planets who had been captured and driven insane. They now scrambled ahead of the giant warriors, taking bullets and acting as living shields. Even a few citizens from Lorn V were in their mass, taking bullets, bolts, and las rounds that would have hit their evil masters.

Jack realized that they were the waking nightmares his superiors said they were, complete opposite from their noble brethren. Grisly trophies from uncountable alien species adorned their armored forms, and from their weapons hung fresh human heads. Entire human bodies covered their tanks, impaled on spikes and other horrible ornaments. They were an incarnation of hell.

Jack saw a World Eater run forward, only to have his leg blasted off by a Leman Russ tank's main cannon, and yet the marine kept crawling forwards, yelling for blood. Dozens of the Traitor Marines fell, as well as hundreds of their crazed cultists and servants, but for every traitor that died, they took with them hundreds of Jack's comrades. Imperial Guardsmen would stand up to fire their weapons out of the trench that they were taking cover in, only to get their heads blown out by a Bolter rounds. Ten men died in a single Las blast from an enemy Predator tank. Even fire from the Imperials own artillery took their lives, the commanders of the city willing to let their men die in overrun positions then let the enemy get a foothold.

On all sides the traitors ran forward accompanied by their tanks. Many had Bolt Pistols, weapons that were difficult for a regular human to use, and in their other hand screaming Chain Axes. Others had regular Bolt Guns and wicked looking knife side arms. Others carried Plasma Pistols or Plasma Guns, Missile Launchers, and Heavy Bolters. Every one of these weapons were horrifying creations of war, able to penetrate a Imperial Troopers armor with ease, and even kill dozens of those standing beside the target. The tanks carried Havoc Missile Launchers, Heavy Bolters, Las Cannons, and other deadly weapons. Some of the traitors had no weapons but their own bodies, horribly mutated beyond recognition. Extra mouths, claws, hands, tentacles, you name it, erupted from their armored bodies, ready to tear into anything at hand.

The Imperial Guard responded with wave after wave of Las Gun fire and weapon emplacements of every kind. Leman Russ battle tanks opened fire with their main cannons time after time, and the Bolters on each side cut down the cultists in their hundreds. Huge Earth Shaker rounds were fired from the Basilisk artillery tanks, destroying enemy vehicles in a single hit. Sentinel walkers patrolled above the trenches, strafing fire at the approaching traitors, directing enemy fire against them rather then the massed ranks below.

It seemed as though the Chaos forces regretted their charge for a moment, the warriors slowing and the tanks stopping their fire, until suddenly they came faster than before, and were upon the Imperials. Huge hulking warriors covered in both dry and fresh blood leaped forwards and into the first parts of the trenches. Chain Swords revved up and combat blades were unsheathed. In response the Imperial forces attached bayonets to Las Rifles and Sergeants bared their swords. A Defiler walker moved towards the trenches, its mechanical spider legs covered in jagged blades. It turned towards a part of the trench that had not yet been touched, and unleashing its flamethrower, burned fifteen men alive with a fire that burned black as midnight

Suddenly the Defiler turned, and with a cannon in its chest shaped like a screaming face, it opened fire at Jack's position. A huge blast of both ordinance and unholy energies tore up the ground thirty meters to Jack's left, destroying everything in the blast area. The Defiler continued to impale men on its spiked legs, until with a flash of light, it was hit in the abdomen by a Basilisk's shell. Instead of dropping or shutting down, it completely exploded, causing the spikes that covered its body to fly everywhere like oversized shrapnel.

The Chaos forces were now in range of the main trenches. They had gone through the first row of trenches, but now had to move through a killing ground of another fifty meters. As their tanks and warriors made it over and through the first series trenches, Jack and the main force Imperial soldiers opened fire. The ranks around Jack were bolstered as survivors from the front retreated.

As the World Eaters came closer, Jack and his comrades answered the charge with their weapons. "Damn it, they get up after you shoot them!" Jack screamed over the noise of the battle. "Then just shoot them again!" His Sergeant replied without missing a beat.

The Chaos forces came closer and closer until it was time for the Imperials to abandon the trenches. If they didn't, they would be caught and massacred like their brothers in the front trenches. As Jack quickly climbed out he attached his bayonet to his Las-rifle, and took a few practice jabs and swings in preparation.

Soldiers all around him opened fire on the massed ranks of cultists and chaos marines. Blinding red Las-bolts, and bright flashes from Stubber guns filled his vision. Men ran past Jack and into the fight. One man tripped and had the back of his head smashed in by a traitor Marines foot. Everything was rushing by Jack blindingly fast, when it suddenly all slowed down, and a single figure ran towards him.

Jack surveyed the ground around him and spotted a chain sword to his left. Picking up the fallen chain sword he threw down his puny rifle and entered a battle stance. He turned to face his adversary, a crazed cultist. The man had been branded and tattooed all over his body, and was foaming at the mouth. Jack swiftly cut the man completely in half with the chain sword. PDF troopers and conscripts not familiar with the Kasrkin uniform, thought him a sergeant with his chain sword and rallied to him. Killing un-augmented men and women was easy when compared to killing a Chaos Space Marine. Suddenly Jack had that chance too.

"Come on you little wretch!" A World Eater screamed at Jack in a metallic voice through the helmet grill as it came upon him with a razor sharp sword. Jack parried the incredibly quick attacks, but it felt as though his arms were breaking from the force of the blows. As they fought the traitors blood lust gave Jack an opening.

The Chaos marine struck downwards with a two handed chop, allowing Jack to jump to the side, and stab into the vulnerable area of the neck armor behind the gorget. The small blades on the chains ripped through the thin Ceramite armor and then into flesh, splattering blood everywhere as the marine let out a gurgling laugh. Even with a major artery cut the traitor Marine still came at Jack, swinging its sword as it charged. Suddenly it fell dead at Jack's feet; a shot from a plasma pistol had removed its head completely.

Jack couldn't find the person who made the shot that saved him, but had a hunch it was his sergeant looking out for him. He cheered on the men around him as he wove into the battle, cutting down creatures left and right.

After what seemed like an eternity of fighting, but in reality only a few minutes, Jack came face to face with another massive armored figure. It carried a Bolter in one hand, an impossible feat for a normal human, and also sported a huge hooked combat knife. As it aimed to take a shot at Jack, he screamed out what he thought was to be his last breath. However his last scream wasn't loud enough to be heard above the blast of a Leman Russ Tank as it turned the traitor into a bloody mist.

After waiting a few seconds to deal with the surprise and wonderment at still being alive, Jack ran to the tank and sat on one of its sides. While yelling out to his brothers to hold fast, Jack started cutting down any of the crazed men who came near. He could barely hear the voice that was yelling to him over the sound of the Heavy Bolter fire and shelling.

"Jack! JACK!" As Jack turned around he saw his badly wounded sergeant sitting on the other side of the tank, firing off plasma rounds at the enemy while still avoiding incoming fire. "JACK!" His sergeant screamed as he ducked his head down.

"You have been doing an excellent job of leading these men, let me take a bit of the Emperors wrath to the enemy! Keep up the good work and, COVER ME!" The sergeant threw Jack his plasma pistol and jumped down into the fray with a two handed grip on his sword.

Jack suddenly had an idea, but he couldn't believe that it was his. He probably wasn't thinking straight, the adrenaline and shock were seeing to that. Still, the thought came unbidden into his mind. If he could get promoted he would be out of this hellhole, he would be moved into the city to direct the Kasrkin squads. Jack suddenly yelled without his own mind knowing what he was doing. "Look out!" Then without his brain telling his finger to do so, he mercilessly shot a plasma bolt into his Sergeant's back; the man who had saved him just a few moment prior.

"Oh by the Emperor, what have I done?" Jack cried out in anguish. If anyone had seen his deed it would not have made a difference. A horrible screaming noise arose from the general din of the battlefield. Without warning the Leman Russ tank Jack was standing on exploded as a missile struck its side. Jack screamed again, only this time in pain, as a piece of shrapnel tore through his chest and everything went dark.


	4. Chapter 2

A Tale of Heresy

By: RanmaChanFC

_**Chapter Two – Resurrection, Forsaken, Dreams**_

Jacks mind was a mix intense pain and blurry memories. He couldn't remember what had happened, and could feel nothing of his body. Horrible voices screamed out at him. Were they the voices of his brothers in arms, the man he had killed, or something worse? Jack awoke with a jolt and opened his eyes, only to quickly close them again as a searing white light burned his retinas. Slowly he could feel something. A horrible fatigue descending on him like lead weights, and a terrible pain creeping through his body.

"Jack?" A man's faint voice called out. "Jack are you awake?" The voice asked again, this time the voice sounding much closer. Was it the voice of the Emperor? Was he dead?

Jack moaned as he opened his eyes again, this time very slowly, and tried to get used to the spreading pain. It seemed to come from the center of his body, and yet also numerous other places. Jack tried to sit up and reorient himself, but he only ended up collapsing back on to the table, his chest burning with a white hot pain. Jack realized he was in the Medicae's tent, on an ice cold metal table covered in drying blood.

As Jack slowly tried to get up the man spoke to him once again. "Jack I'm glad you are awake, you've been unconscious for quite a few hours now."

"What?" Jack gasped in surprise. "What happened to the battle and the Chaos forces?"

"They retreated, we drove them back." The man informed him with delight, which quickly turned back to a somber mood. "You were found extremely wounded beside a tank wreck, surrounded by quite a few of your dead squad mates." He paused. "You are one of the only ones left from your squad Jack."

Then Jack fully remembered what happened, he had shot his Sergeant in the back, with the mans own gun. He hadn't been able to come to terms with it at the time, with the explosion knocking him out. Jack then realized that if he hadn't been knocked out at that moment, he would have been slaughtered with the rest of his squad. Was something watching out for him? He had never truly believed in the Emperor… But if the Emperor was watching over him, why had he let war come to this world? Why had the Emperor let him live, after what he had done?

"How? Why?" Was the only reply Jack could utter after a moment or two of contemplation, until he stuttered: "Who?"

"Clearly you are not in the right mind Jack, you have been grievously wounded, and the shock of the battle and losing all your friends must be extremely tough. We won this battle, but not the war." The Medicae said with a twinge of worry.

Jack was barely listening to the man, thinking about what would happen to him if his secret heresy came out. He tried to wrap his head around the battle, but realized his mind was blank in more then a few areas. Jack finally spoke. "Where was I wounded?"

"Well if you can't feel for yourself then I guess I can give you a rundown on your situation, the pain medication must still be in effect. You were hit in the chest with a large piece of shrapnel, it tore into your chest and broke a few ribs, but miraculously no organs were badly damaged. A slower piece of metal hit you in the side of the head, and the concussion flung you back a good couple meters, where you hit your head again. You were also hit by a stray Bolter round in the left leg, and against all odds it didn't detonate. You are an extremely lucky man Jack." The Medicae exclaimed. Jack shuddered, if the bolt had detonated, he would have one leg less on him right now.

"Yeah it seems so." Jack mumbled, lost in thought, as he started to lower himself off the metal table. Suddenly Jack let out a piercing cry and nearly fell to the ground. His legs couldn't hold up his body due to a combination of inactivity and wounds. The Medicae caught Jack and helped him to stand without falling over. When Jack could stand by himself the Medicae left the room and came back shortly with a needle filled with liquid. Jack braced himself, and sighed as it seemed all but the most major pains in his body were swept away, and the major pains became just aches.

"You had better get back to the squad barracks on the double, what remains of your squad are waiting for you there, and you shouldn't be up for to long." The Medicae told Jack, and showed him to the door. Jack knew the pain was gone for now, but it would be back soon, and with a vengeance. Right now he needed to get to his bunk and squad.

After asking the man directions to where his squad was housed, and how to exit the makeshift medical area, he left in a hurry. As Jack walked through the city, he heard the constant sounds of gunfire and artillery blasts. A building somewhere in the city was hit by an enemy projectile, and the sounds of the explosion and landing rubble was almost constant as he found his way back to the barracks. If this is what the battle had died down to, he prayed to the Emperor he would never have to see the real thing for a long time yet.

The Kasrkin headquarters was built into the mansions and villas near the middle of the city. Only Commissars and those with higher ranks had their sleeping quarters closer to the center, the Governor's Palace. The city was now a blend of the functional Imperial Guard buildings constructed entirely of metal and of the black stone homes of the citizenry. Jack looked at the building he was about to enter, he quite possibly was about to face his judges. It was roughly circular and ten meters in height, until it met the lavish villa in the South Western area.

As Jack slowly opened the door, he smelt sweat, blood, and imported pipe tobacco. He opened the door fully and limped inside, spotting two men lounging on couches and smoking the evicted nobles pipe tobacco, and three more men in the back room trying to play a card game. All were badly wounded like him, sporting deeps cuts, bullet wounds, and broken limbs. One of the other troopers had an entire arm missing; already there was metal sprouting from the wound, a base for his new augmentic arm.

Jack stood silently in the doorway, the sounds of bombs and gunfire echoing through the open portal.

"Hey!" A soldier Jack remembered to be named Bill, said. "Close the door already, and come sit down. I sure am glad you ain't dead! The entire squad but us was reported dead in that last battle, and man." He said, holding up his arm. "Was it ever a nasty one! One of those cultists got me pretty badly."

Jack declined Bill's offer of sitting down and smoking the tobacco, and walked into the back room where there was a card game going on. He recognized one of the other men, Larken, a heavy weapons trooper. Jack took a half step back when Larken turned to look at him. Larken had been facing away, and now Jack knew why Larken had bandages covering his head.

Half of Larken's face was gone, it must have been ripped off from a glancing blow of a Chainaxe. Jack could already see where the new augmentic eye was going to be placed, and the Medicae were already attaching synth-flesh to the edges of the wound. Larken could tell what Jack was thinking and spoke in a low baritone. "Yeah, I got a nasty smack in the head from one of those giant bastards. I'm gunna get a new eye, they say it can help me shoot better, but it hurts like a son of a bitch." He paused for a few seconds before continuing once more, in an even lower voice. "Jack I hate to tell you this, but the Sergeant is dead too."

Jack couldn't afford to pause for a second. Did the man know what he had done? Did Larken suspect him of killing the sergeant? "I know." Jack replied hastily. "I saw the cultist that shot him. Right after that the tank exploded of course." Jack added in almost rushing to get the words out, to try to convince Larken, and himself, that he was innocent.

"Well." Larken paused and turned away for a few seconds, playing his hand in a game Jack couldn't recognize. "The Sergeant had the most faith in you, honestly I thought you would be the first to die." Larken chuckled, and inwardly Jack seethed with hate for this stupid brute. Larken continued. "On your body was his plasma pistol." Something in Jack's mind screamed for him to run, the man must know! "He gave it to you before he kicked the bucket, so the squad decided you could keep it and his other equipment too." Larken finished. Jack gave a huge mental sigh, and hoped nothing of his inner battle was showing through on his face.

Jack suddenly realized Larken was looking at him, waiting for a response. "Alright." Jack finally said at length. "I would be honored to receive his wargear." Jack hoped this was the end of the exchange, he was exhausted in body and mind, and he couldn't take much more. Even the painkillers were starting to wear off.

"One more thing Jack." Larken looked at him with a keen eye, ready to take in Jack's reaction to his next words. This was going to be the topic Larken had been building up to. "With the rest of us so badly wounded, and you receiving the late sergeants wargear, command has listened to our petition, and have come to the conclusion you will be leader of a new squad of Kasrkins."

Jack's mouth visibly dropped. He had been planning on sitting back here, relaxing and healing away from the front lines. Now he was going to have to go back out into that nightmarish battle, and with an entire squad of rookies no less. This was a massive betrayal, these freeloaders were going to sit back like he had planned, the Sergeant's death had been for nothing, nothing!

Jack calmed down and met Larken's cunning gaze with his own dark stare. The man was taken aback for a moment, but his buddies rallied behind him. "Sure." Jack grated. "I would love to take the fight to the enemy while you all sit here and relax; but I have no leadership skills, I have never been trained in squad tactics, and my wounds are just as horrible as yours, if not worse." Jack added the last one pointedly.

"Don't worry about a thing." Larken said with a sneer. "We saw you lead a charge into the battle, you have plenty of leadership skills. Oh and we talked to the head Medicae." Larken continued snidely. "We have asked for only minimal treatment of our wounds, so of course lots more attention will be focused on you getting better. Yes my friend we care that much about you." Larken added with more then a little bit of contempt and sarcasm.

Jack turned and left, storming further into the bunker and then further into the darkened rooms. His whole body had gone cold, but his fury was red hot. He was their scapegoat, they had done to him what he had done to the Sergeant. Those lazy bastards were going to make him do all the work, and put him into a situation where he could be killed.

Jack knew why. Their Sergeant had always been praising him. Jack knew he was better at everything then all of them combined. He could shoot perfectly with any firearm, he could use any hand held weapon in a multitude of styles. His wounds were almost greater then every one of theirs, and he was standing and walking.

His mind went in circles as guilt, anger, hatred, pain, and so much more ran through his system. His thoughts started to race. He would kill them when he had the chance he vowed, murder them all and make an example of them. Then the next moment he started to think of what might happen to him on the battlefield, covered only by basic troopers. He feared death strongly then, almost more then ever before. He would get them he plotted, he would poison their food and drink, switch their medicines, and make sure their augments never healed properly, causing them pain every waking moment. How he longed to feel their hot blood on his face, his knife cutting into their flesh...

He stopped for a second, he didn't think like that, he would never do anything like that; but it all sounded so good. He knew he was misreading the facts, and yes those men back there were assholes, but he would never have thoughts like that, could never have them. Could he? All his thoughts slowly drained out of his mind, like a hole had been made, emotions running out of it like water. Or maybe the hole was caused by something clawing in?

"Why don't you take up their offer? What do you have to lose?" A voice said in Jacks mind, his own voice? He couldn't tell... "Train the new soldiers, bind them to your will and gain their loyalty. You can use them to survive, and gain your revenge on those monsters who set you up." Jack thought. Was it his thought? Of course it was. The damn pain killers were starting to do something to his head.

Jack quickly shook his head and cleared his mind, walking back to the bunk rooms. He would take up their offer and survive this, but he wouldn't be breaking anymore laws. He could do it, he could survive, but he needed a nights sleep first. He found his bunk and laid down. The pain in his body growing worse and worse as he drifted off.

Instead of sleep Jack was greeted with a nightmare landscape. His dreams were not his own, and he was not alone in them. The dreams were of killing Larken and his other squad mates. Cutting them apart, slipping pox vials into their medicines, giving them horrible diseases and contagions. He would poison their food and get them in trouble with the higher ups, exposing their plan and becoming a hero, setting them up as traitors and heretics. He dreamed of skinning them all alive, running his hands across their bloody, skinless bodies, causing them terrible, horrific pain, and relishing every minute of it.

The dream was a nightmare, and yet also what he wanted the most deep down. It was what he wanted right? Of course it was! They had crossed him, everyone had. All that was left for him to do was, wake up- wake up- WAKE UP-!


End file.
